Milkshakes And Greasers
by stay-goldKat
Summary: A whole new gang with the same old problems enters the Outsiders Universe! The Soc/Greaser war continues, leaving this gang to fend for themselves in a 1950s Tulsa. Can these greasy hoods rise up to the challenge and become more, or are they destined to follow in the footsteps of all other greaser gangs? All OC's!
1. Chapter 1

Greaser

Chapter One

**The Soc/Greaser war continues with an all new greaser gang. Follow these original characters through their own adventure in 1950s Tulsa. All OC's, but this is S.E. Hinton's world! Enjoy!**

The diner sure is swinging tonight, I thought as we found a place to park the blue Bel Air. The lights from behind the window illuminated the parking lot all the way down to the road and shadows were dancing. It seemed like everybody from school was there, but of course, so were we so it was alright. There were so many people that they spilled out the door, dancing and laughing just the same. The door was wide open, somebody had propped a brick against it. The top of the convertible was down, so we all hopped out over the side with a 'whoop' so as everybody knew that we were there and the fun could begin.

The jukebox was playing a really rocking song by that Jerry Lee Lewis fellow. Personally, I think Elvis was the king. Still, even if it wasn't the King the music had beat and sang out true. There were quite a few good looking skirts in the crowd, but they were all from the other side of the tracks. They were part of the rich set that looked down at us like we were the gum they'd stepped in, like we were somehow less human just because we didn't have the same money. I didn't like them any more then they liked us. Just about everybody in the gang, including me, had been jumped by them Socs at one time or another. Then, just about anybody without money had too.

Card was whistling along with the song with a smile on his face and his eyes bright. He was drunk again, like we all were. We were all laughing loud and staggering to the door through the crowd. Jack, who we all call Jacky, was pocketing the keys and flipping the lapels of his leather jacket up. We all had the same black leather jacket with our gang name written on the back, 'Lightning Strikers'. A lot of the gangs around here had similar jackets, with their names marking them, and we were enemies with three of them, the 'Dancing Bones', the 'Red Bows', and the 'Fire-starters'. We knew two other gangs that could kind of be considered our allies, the 'Kings' and the 'Rumble Hounds', but no way were we by any stretch chums.

However, all of us gangs agreed on one thing, Socs. We all wanted to stomp their guts and if we ever had a real rumble break out, we'd all show on the same side to do just that. Stomp the Socs. For the most part we stayed on our own turfs though. The Socs stayed on the West side and we stayed on the East. There was this one stretch though that was considered neutral territory that included the diner, the biggest drive-in, the shopping center, and a few other places around the middle of town. By neutral, I mean that we agreed not to jump each other unless there was a real reason like if somebody was caught with another's girl or something.

Mickey, my best buddy, slapped a hand down on my shoulder, laughing drunkenly, and leaned against me as we went up the curb. "You wanna know something, Switch? I hope we do get into it with them Socs tonight. I mean it; I'm looking for some action." He must of noticed all the checkered shirts inside too.

I laughed with him as we started pushing our way through to the door. "C'mon Mick, when ain't you looking for some action?"

Jacky was behind us and had a hand on each of our shoulders. "Mick, you get us kicked outta here and I'm gonna knock some teeth loose."

We all laughed again, but Jacky was dead serious. He really liked this place because his brother's best pal owned the joint and he could usually get away without paying, but if Jacky ever caused some real trouble his big brother would likely clobber him. Ryan was a cool ole guy, but he, and Jacky's brother, Hart, looked real tough with their muscles and height. To tell you the truth, Ryan still kind of scared me and I'd known him for years. I guess it was because he was more of a hood than the rest of us. He'd been in the cooler more times than I can count on both hands, plus however many times he'd been busted but got let off easy. He was a real crook, had even killed a guy back in California when he was just thirteen. He got off kind of easy because they'd charged him with manslaughter and not murder. He liked to tell people that it was murder though, like he was proud or something.

People were all over the middle of the floor dancing like they hadn't just come from junior prom. I guess prom was kind of boring in comparison what with all the chaperones, but this was our hang out. I wondered when everybody had changed because nobody was real dressed up. Maybe I was confused and prom was the next night. I'm easy to confuse when I'm soused.

We loitered for a few minutes hoping to find a table when this Soc that likes to give me trouble at school starts something. I was just scouting like the gang when the snob bumps my shoulder. It hurt and was sure to bruise, he wasn't the star quarterback for nothing. Of course I wasn't gonna show it so instead I just said, "Hey, watch it!" before I realized who it was. Then I looked up because he's big and inside I cursed just knowing no good would come.

He pushed me in the bruised shoulder and said just like a spoiled jock, "What did you just say to me, you little punk? Huh, greaser?" I narrowed my eyes and the gang was backing me up now, sensing something was up. The Socs were backing him up too.

That part in me that loves to fight was just waiting to shout out that comment that would tell him just what I'd said, but I bit it back for Jacky's sake. At least I tried not to fight, right? So I said, "I said you oughta watch where you're walking." My voice was full of anger, but I was just being honest.

Now all the eyes of the whole place were on us and it felt like a spotlight. Please don't let them call the cops, I begged in my head. My old man would just flip if he had to bail me out one more time. I'd been hauled in twice that school year already.

Kyle, the Soc, didn't hesitate. "Well maybe you're the one who'd better watch it, greaser." Spoken like a true Soc. Way to uphold the belief that y'all are snobs, Kyle.

I wasn't sure what I was about to say, but Mickey saved me. He always knew when I wouldn't have a comeback, but he always had one so I was good. "Or you'll what, Kyle? Sick your snarling dogs behind you there to sick 'em?"

A few of them had on varsity jackets and one of them stepped up so that Mickey and he were toe to toe. "What was that, greaser? You calling me a dog?" I didn't get why that was so offensive, but maybe it was because they just wanted to pick a fight.

Suddenly Ryan came between us. It was spooky how loud the jukebox seemed all of a sudden. "Alright, boys, I won't be having no trouble in my diner so let's cool it or take it outside. Personally, I don't care which."

Cool as ice Kyle jerked his head toward the door, his gaze never leaving mine. It was an invitation to a rumble and if I declined than I'd be a chicken. I ain't no chicken. Just as coolly, I shrugged my shoulders and said, "Sure." The gang let out a howl; they were getting a fight tonight after all.

We filed out with the Socs behind us and the bystanders crowded around the windows that basically served as walls. We heard motorcycles coming up and knew that it had to be the 'Dancing Bones' because they were the motorcycle boys and hung by the abandoned parking lot close by. They had a sixth sense or something and could always tell when there was action. We didn't like them, they played rough, but they'd always be there when there was a rumble with the Socs. Sure enough they came screeching into the lot just as we were lining up.

Owen, their leader, came up and asked what was happening. Card filled him in as the rest fell in behind us. Now both sides were about even, the Socs numbering at fifteen and us at seventeen. That's kind of funny because I'm seventeen, what a coincidence. I smiled outwardly just because I couldn't help it. I was giddy with the adrenaline that comes with fighting. It was like I was drinking all over again, in fact I was feeling so good that if I never touched a drop again and just got into this mess instead I'd be the drunkest man alive.

Kyle and I stepped up and faced each other. Well, I kind of had to stand on my toes to be at eye level, but you get what I mean. Man he sure was one Goliath. My palms were sweating and so was my back, but I could see it on his forehead too, so I knew I wasn't the only one tensed up. Any moment now one of us would hit the other and it'd be on. It was just up to me or him to start it. Man that was a lot of pressure, having to be the one responsible for everybody's getting banged up. I'd never done it before.

Then I was feeling really funny, like I had already been hit or something you know? I felt almost dizzy, but all I did was think that maybe this wasn't too smart. I was thinking that beating people up and getting beat up was just plain stupid because it never got anybody anywhere but here. But where would I be if I didn't have that cycle? Where would any of us be? We hadn't ever done it any other way. What a stupid thing to be thinking at a time like that.

I almost got slugged by that hammer blow coming straight at my head. Luckily I came out of my trance just in time to duck, get inside his swing, and punch him in the gut a couple times before he brought a knee up to my face. It hit me squarely in the jaw and I bit the inside of my cheek. I tasted blood and I hoped he hadn't broken a tooth. I didn't waste any time whining though because now everybody was throwing punches around me and I had to focus on Goliath.

I reared up and used my left arm to block a swing at my stomach, he wasn't letting up though and I had both arms shielding my face. Somehow I got thrown to the pavement, somebody else's battle probably, and I saw stars for a second. From the ground I kicked up and knocked Kyle down. I jumped up and on top of him with my knees pinning his arms so I could pound some on his face. My hand hurt, but his face looked like it felt worse. Another Soc kicked me hard in the ribs and I let out a scream and followed the foot off of Kyle and he just kept at it until someone else jumped on his back. My side sure was aching, so much I didn't even try getting up. I just watched out for feet until Kyle landed on me and we rolled, both of us throwing punches and cursing. I think I broke his nose from the way it was bleeding and crooked.

We hit one of those parking blocks and stood up, don't ask me how. I don't know. Then we were throwing punches like normal men, back and forth. We were both getting awful tired now. I wasn't sure how we would ever know when to stop, but I knew that I wasn't going to be the one to surrender. He hit me in the ribs again and I fell on my butt because golly, the pain took my wind away almost. He kicked me in the sides and I heard more than felt several cracks. Clutching my side I kicked out and tripped him and then I pinned him down to wail on him again. I was mad and wasn't stopping because of the pain. He'd probably need some stitches, but I didn't stop until someone had their arms around me and threw me off. I made it to my feet. That guy punched me and I spun and fell down on my face again. I sure was off balance and aching. Then they did a funny thing, the new guy grabbed Kyle and they were running. I looked around and saw the Socs all running off in their fancy cars.

I heard the guys around me all cheering, but I just rolled over on my back and groaned. Yeah, I was happy, but I could rejoice after I wasn't all bloodied and bruised. I wasn't the only guy staying down, I saw at least one of the 'Dancing Bones' guys, but I don't know his name. We all looked alike, even though we were two separate gangs; bruises, cuts, and greased up hair in leather. It didn't matter right then what the letters were on our backs because we were proud greasers that had just beaten the Socs. Proud, aching greasers.

Mickey came bounding over to my side. His nose was bleeding, he was going to have a black eye, and there were a few other bruises on his face, but he was still smiling down at me. I took that as a sign that my face wasn't too bad, even if I felt like dying. His smile faded when he saw my grim face. "What's up buddy?"

"I ain't feeling too good, Mick." That was an understatement, but I did have a rep to keep and besides, there wasn't any good reason to worry somebody who cares.

He just shook his head, but I know he got it. "No kidding?"

"Nope, think I cracked some ribs."

He winced sympathetically. Card, Jacky, and Hart, who showed up during the rumble, came over seeing as I was still down. They all looked banged up, but no worse than Mickey. He told them what happened and Hart, ever the grown-up at twenty, asked, "Want me to take you to the hospital, kid?"

From the ground I tilted my head, "Are you kidding me? No I don't want to go to no hospital. I'm just gonna lie here real peaceful like."

They cracked grins. "What so you can get squashed some more by some car?" Hart always was the downer, thinking he was the adult even though he wasn't more than three or four years older than me. I'd be eighteen next July.

I thought about it. Getting up didn't sound too good to me, but neither did getting run over. I looked over at the other guy down on the ground. He wasn't moving which meant there'd be an ambulance coming soon. I thought he was alive because the 'Bones' looked concerned, but not panicked. I hoped so anyway.

"Alright, help me up." No way did I want to be around for the E.M.T.s to scrape me up onto a stretcher. I hated hospitals and we couldn't afford it anyway.

They all looked at each other, wondering just how to do that without hurting me too badly. They all knew just how bad broken ribs hurt. It wasn't like a broken arm that you can avoid or something because it hurt just to draw the air to breath, let alone move. I remember when Jacky had been jumped about a year ago and we'd found him with four busted ribs. He'd almost cried when we were carrying him the four blocks to somebody's house. I sure hope I could keep my cool better than that, but this was first real break.

Sure enough, it hurt like heck. Hart and Jacky, since they were strongest, each had taken an arm and had me draped between them. I held my breath and struggled not to scream the whole way and just let my feet drag behind me. Nobody made fun of me though, because they knew I was hurting. They got me to the car and I sat up front on the passenger side with Mickey in the middle and Jacky driving. I had my head back against the vinyl seat and was gritting my teeth before we were even moving. Card was in the back alone because Hart had stayed behind to keep Ryan company.

The ride to Mickey's was not fun. Every little bump we went over I felt. It rattled my broken bones against each other and that's not hard to feel. My breath came a little faster each time and I was sweating bullets. The guys didn't say much either, but every now and then I caught glimpses in the rearview mirror of their grim faces. We didn't like one of us to be hurt any more than we liked being the one hurt. They stopped the car at the foot of the driveway, the transition from the road too high to risk with me. That meant that they'd have to carry me further, but that was easier than having the bones clank together going over a lousy bump.

I wasn't going to my house because I couldn't get along feeling like I did and my old man wouldn't help me if I were in a full body cast. He's never home because he's always busy working his two jobs or else traveling in a rodeo. He cared enough about me to leave me enough money when he was gone though, and at least he never yelled at me or hit me like some kids' parents, so he was okay. My mom had died of cancer when I was eight, that's why I hate hospitals, so I was mostly alone there.

However, Mickey's folks didn't give a hang as long as he did good in school and kept out of big trouble. They figured that he was just a growing boy and his fighting and boozing and whatever else he did was normal. After all, his father did all the same stuff and he turned out alright. He had a little sister, Ellie, and she couldn't hardly get away with anything, but their parents loved them the same. They practically thought me as their son too, and that was okay since I was over there all the time. They were used to seeing us banged up because this was the place we all went because Mick's parents didn't freak while the others usually did.

Card jumped out the side and got my door for me while Jacky came around to my side. He had my arm around his neck and pulled me out so Mickey could get out and support my other side. I was pretty sure I had ribs cracked on both sides of my ribcage because no matter where my weight was, a single shift sent me gritting my teeth. They dragged me to the house, Card opened the door and we went up the torturous stairs. Poor Card got stuck talking to the family when we passed the living room. Man, those stairs were killer. I was panting by the time they reached the top. "You're gonna be okay, buddy," Mickey said gently. They got to the door, which was shut of course and they didn't have a free hand. "Card!"

He came running up and got the door opened so they could ease me down on the bed where I collapsed. I stared at the ceiling with tears gleaming in my eyes and sweat pouring down my face while my breathing slowed and the pain settled down from screaming to just moaning. The guys watched me and I felt angry because I don't like being helpless. Card looked as pale as I felt when I looked at him standing behind the other two. So I asked, my voice sounding croaked, "You okay?"

Sometimes I forget he's the youngest at fifteen. He looks just as old as the rest of us, although we don't look at all old. He nodded, still pale and worried. "Yeah, I'm just hoping I don't ever get my ribs smashed. It don't look too fun. What about you?"

"Yeah, well, like you said it ain't too fun. It's better now that I'm not dying on stairs or nothing." Maybe risking getting smashed by a car would have been a better plan in the first place. It sure couldn't have hurt worse.

Jacky stood up from his spot on the bed. "I guess I'll go get Card and me home before Hart flips. See you tomorrow." Card had the most strict parents, but Hart was even stricter with Jacky because he was his guardian. He was always very stoic, didn't smile much, but he made an effort for me. "And try not to look so pained, we beat the Socs!"

I smiled back and said bye to Card who gave me a playful punch on the shoulder, not hard. "See you around, Switch. Gotta try not to break curfew with bruises, you know?" His parents were pretty strict with him, but Jacky's brother had to be the most stern and he was sort of one of us.

They left just as Mickey's parents came up. That's why we always came here after a rumble too; his parents always gave us free medical attention until hospitals had to be introduced. None of our families had much money so we weren't exactly quick to go to the doctors for a possible broken bone and have it only be a sprain or something. Ellie was still downstairs watching television or playing with her dolls.

Mick's dad sat by Mick on the side of the bed. "How're you feeling, kiddo? Card told us you might have some busted ribs." He was very calm about it, like we were talking about a scratch from falling off a bike. I liked that about him and Mick's mom.

I would have shrugged, but decided against it. "One of those funny things, you know? Always falling off of fists and stuff."

He cracked one of his famous grins. It made him look like a carefree kid. Mick had the same smile. Then it slowly faded and I got nervous. That probably meant some painful treatment or something. I probably should have taken off my jacket sooner, like while I was already up. Too late now. Sure enough, he apologized, had his wife prop me up, and tried gently to tug my leather jacket off. Then I was flat on my back again. It felt better there, but I was sweating and panting again. Mickey took my jacket and hung it on the bed post. We all liked to keep them close by.

"Margaret, could you get the lights?" Mick's mom flicked on the light and shut the door behind her as she went downstairs. Then he lifted up the hem of my T-shirt so he could look at my ribs. I lifted my head up and saw that my torso was pretty bruised and my ribcage looked kind of funny. I wasn't at all any doctor and Mick's dad didn't change expression so it was hard to gauge my diagnosis. He gently probed my ribs with his fingers, it stung a little, and he put my shirt back down. "Well, kiddo, I've counted a whopping six broken ribs. I'm thinking you maybe oughta go to a doctor."

Wow, two more than Jacky had broken, what a tough guy am I. "Doctor? C'mon man, you know I can't do that. How's come I can't just take it easy and they'll fix by themselves?"

"Now, Switch, broken ribs aren't a joke. They could be permanently damaged if you don't get them checked out. I'm no doctor myself, but that's my advice to you."

Just great. It's not like Dad had money coming out of his ears, it was hard enough paying the bills and for groceries. My bailouts didn't help any, but doctors bills are crazy expensive. What would he say? I looked at the clock, one a.m. He should still be awake because he doesn't like sleeping until I'm in. "Hey, Mick?"

He had a funny look on his face like he knew what I was thinking. "Yeah?"

"Could you call my dad and see what he says?"

Mickey groaned. He hated talking to the parent types. "Do I have to?"

I pointed at my banged up torso and he looked slightly guilty. "I guess that means yes." He left for the phone downstairs. Mick's Dad looked at me silently so I raised my eyebrows.

He said hesitantly, "You know, you boys are growing up and if you're not careful, this road you're on will get you hurt. And I mean worse than you are right now." That was heavy coming from him. He was one of those old fellows that look and act half their age. He was all laughter and smiles, never heavy ominous warnings. What was with my getting hurt that made everyone act so weird all of a sudden? Was it more serious that I realized?

"Sir-," I didn't know what to say. Luckily I didn't have to stumble for long because Mickey came running up.

"You're dad said to take you and that he'd meet us up there." Mick looked serious too. What universe had I fallen into where the happy-go-lucky types are so dark and ominous? Maybe I had forgotten it was opposite day.

I groaned at the idea of a hospital, and at having to be moved again. "Do I have to?" I implored again.

Mr. Not Mick's Dad nodded solemnly and I sighed with a wince. Deep breathing hurt. Mick draped my jacket over his arm and helped get me up. I thought of the stairs. "Instead of taking the stairs this time, do you think you could be so kind as to drop me over the railing?" They laughed, at least. Going down was just as bad as going up, only faster. Mick's dad drove his sedan and I got to sit in the back seat with Mickey. He didn't want to sit in the front with me hurt and his dad didn't like his sixteen-year-old son driving. The drive wasn't so bad this time, so I thought maybe I was getting used to it.

The hospital was scary as we pulled up and parked. It loomed over me, blocking out the moon, like some great giant come to eat me. People die here every day. Why are they taking me to this place? I saw my dad's beat up red truck as they were getting me out. He was leaning against the side smoking a cigarette until he saw us and came running over to take Mickey's spot at my side. That was weird too. Since when did he give a hang about a cut or a scrape? This wasn't so different from that, it'd heal just the same. Maybe I was underestimating it, but I didn't think so. None of the other boys got this kind of treatment.

When we got there, one of the doctors said, "Let me guess, you were in that rumble tonight."

I nodded sheepishly.

He shook his head and frowned. "You're the fourth one tonight. Three of your buddies have to stay for observation. Let's hope you don't make number four." It was doubtful that the three other guys were 'buddies', ecspecially since I only noticed one of us greasers down. The other two were probably Socs because they'd have scraped up their wounded so we wouldn't have seen them anyway. The count added up about right. Two of us and two of them.

The doctor checked me over and taped up my sides. I felt like a mummy, being all snug under them bandages like I was. They wanted to keep me overnight for observation to make sure a bone shard or something hadn't punctured anything. I refused. No way was I staying any longer than I had to and I knew we didn't have that kind of money to waste. "I feel alright, doc, honest. Sure, sore, banged up, and what's not, but not like I'm gonna keel over anytime soon." They argued with my father and me some, but they had to let me go. I didn't understand why dad was so uptight about it and trying to convince me that if I needed to stay then to stay. Where was all this new money coming from, or did he just suddenly feel like being an overprotective parent? Finally they released me with strict orders to stay in bed.

Mickey and his dad were in the waiting room when we came out; Dad was half carrying me with one arm. What was the big deal? "Alright, I've had it. How's come y'all are so concerned over nothing?" It was driving me crazy the way they acted like I was dying or something.

Dad played it innocent. "What do you mean, son? We care about you is all."

I already knew that. "You know what I mean."

Jacky was there too. Wasn't he supposed to be at home before his curfew? He stood up from the chair to stand by Mickey and his dad. "What'd the doc say?"

"I'll be fine, just like I said. Now would somebody answer me before I go crazy?"

Nobody was saying anything. The doc had given me some pain killers, nothing too heavy, and so I stood up on my own and started for the door clutching my sides. Everybody made a move to stop me. Hart was blocking the doorway with his big frame anyway. That answered why Jacky was here. Almost the whole gang was there. Someone must have brainwashed them into thinking I was dying or something.

"Look, Switch, you don't get hurt." Mickey said seriously. When I looked at him blankly he went on. "I mean that you always get in these fights, but you don't never get hurt like you should. This time is the first time you've ever really been hurt and so what does that mean? That you've run out of luck or something? You're the invincible one, man, so it's kind of scary seeing you banged up. You dig?"

I really must have fallen off the face of the planet. I never get hurt? I get a new bruise just about every day because of my fighting habit. Yeah, I guess this is my first almost major injury, but I'm not hospitalized or something like that. Well, not really anyway. I didn't get it, why they were making such a big deal out of nothing. They got a right to be worried, but not this anxious. The more I thought about it, the less sense it made.

The others all agreed with nods and grunts to Mick's insane comment. I just look incredulously at them, "What have y'all been drinking?"

They didn't answer so I tried to push past Hart, but he pretty much filled out the entire doorway. I turned around and walked down the hallway that connected the waiting room to the rest of the hospital. Surely there was another exit. I didn't make it more than a few steps before Mick came skipping up and stepping in my way. This was getting old real fast. I turned so that I was between the group and Mick. "Can't I just go home?"

Mick's nose crinkled like he didn't like that idea. Dad stepped up and said softly, "Sure, son, we can go on home now." He motioned for me to come back and Hart moved out of the way. I got close enough that Dad put a hand on my shoulder and steered me all the way to the car. He helped me in and said goodbyes to the gang that had followed. It was like I was their unofficial leader, getting all this ceremony and commotion.

Dad drove home in silence, the radio was the only sign of life. That old song "Splish Splash" was playing a bit too cheerful for the atmosphere. The car was so full of tension that I could probably cut it with my prized switchblade I kept in my back pocket. That's where I get my nickname, Switch. I got it off this hood in a rumble. It was a plain black handled switch, but I was scary good with it. Whenever I found myself cornered, about to be jumped, I bring it out and show off. Usually I can get the guys to back down and take off. If not, I know how to use it. I've never seriously hurt anybody, but there've been times when I thought I'd gotten close. I had a bad fighting habit.

We pulled into the gravel driveway and Dad insisted on helping me. I shoved his hand away and got myself in the house and to my bed. I fell on the covers, not bothering to even take off my shoes or pull up a blanket. The meds were starting to wear off and I wasn't feeling too great again. Pathetic, I thought. I closed my eyes and was probably asleep when I felt Dad taking off my shoes for me and pulling the blanket at the foot of my bed over me. I thought he might have said something, but I couldn't catch it because I was already asleep again.

**So what do we think? It's something new to add to our Outsiders universe! Same problems, just different gangs. Do we like it? Hate it? Reviews are wonderful! **


	2. Chapter 2

Milkshakes And Greasers

Chapter Two

**I actually started this story awhile back so this chapter is already done! Yay!**

I didn't wake up until almost noon the next day when I heard a racket from the kitchen. The general clatter of pots and pans and voices straining to be quiet, I guess. I sat up, forgetting about last night, and groaned. Silence followed. Mick came running in with his normal grin. "Morning, Sleeping Beauty. We thought you was dead cause you ain't never stirred and we've been here since morning."

I gave him a slanted look from my pillow. "I ain't been sleeping that late have I?"

He shook his head, laughing at me. "Well, glory, it's almost noon. You've slept most of the day away."

I rubbed my side gently. "I'm pretty sure that being dead feels a whole lot better than I do."

Mick laughed and I knew he was the real Mick. "What did you expect? To just wake up and be all better? Sorry, but it ain't so easy. You're gonna be paying for all that violence." He was kidding about that karma stuff. He didn't believe in it.

"A guy can hope, can't he?"

I stood up using the bedpost for support and shuffled out of my room into the living room. The gang was pretty much there. My dad would have gone to work and so would Hart and Ryan, but I mostly always just hung with Card, Jacky, and Mick. Card was in the kitchen and gave me a grin from by the stove. Jacky was sitting in Dad's beat up leather recliner watching the TV with a beer in his hand. It was turned up loud like always just like the radio on the shelf.

I said, "What's up?"

Jacky raised his bottle to me and said, "Nice hair, sleepy-head."

I looked in the mirror hanging on the wall and just silently held my hand out for a comb. Mick got it and handed me his from his back pocket. I was still in my jeans from last night, but my comb must have slipped out at some point. I ran the comb through my messy black hair that was sticking up in all directions until it laid flat back. I still had some hair grease left in my hair so until I was getting officially ready for the day it'd have to do.

The kitchen was connected to the living room so Card was right there. He called, "I'm making some eggs, Switch. Want some? Nobody else does."

Teasing, Mick said, "The guy's been awake for five minutes and you're already trying to poison him?"

Card gasped in mock hurt. "Poison, why I'd never."

Jacky piped up, "We all know that's what your cooking is, Card. Why, last time you made us pancakes and they'd liked to crawl off our plates. I'm pretty sure they even breathed."

"All right, so they were a bit undercooked. I'm better with eggs."

"Yeah, that's what you said about the pancakes after the sandwiches." Card wasn't exactly a chief. In fact, he was just about the worst cook I knew, but at least he tried I guess. Who am I kidding? That fifteen year old kid shouldn't be allowed to so much as look at a spatula!

I said, "Sure. I'll try some of your eggs."

Mick saluted me. "You're a brave soldier," he said.

I couldn't tell if I was still groggy or not, but my ribs felt a degree less painful. The bruises hurt a lot more than last night. Looking at Mickey he had a black eye and a big bruise across his cheek. Jacky had a split lip, a cut and a bruise on his left cheek, and his nose looked broken. Card was staring at the eggs so all I could see was his right side, but he had a bruise across his jaw too. I felt bad for being the one who kind of got us into that rumble. Like in a way it was somehow my fault, even if it really was that Soc that had it out for me.

Card was combing his blond hair back and mouthing the words to the song. I didn't know it, which is weird because I know just about every rock n' roll song out there. He was about five foot six with green eyes. He had on our leather jacket, a white T-shirt, and a pair of blue jeans. We all dressed alike. I couldn't see his feet from where I was standing, but I knew that he had on his black sneakers like always. There was probably a pack a cigarettes in his jacket pocket. He was middle class with middle class parents, but at heart he was a greasy hood just like us.

Jacky, the booze hound of the group, had black hair that he combed back in wavy swirls. He had light blue eyes that most dames thought were doll like. In fact, most girls really dug him, but Jacky just didn't seem to notice or care. He was the most icy-calm of us, kind of like a Soc. He was real stiff all the time, even when he was drinking and he was always drinking. At the rate he was going, he was liable to become an alcoholic by the time he hit twenty. Hart was real strict with him, but he let that slip. Jacky was seventeen, same as me, but a few months ahead. He'd be eighteen in March.

Mickey, my best buddy, had longer brown hair than any of the gang because he didn't want to waste time on a haircut. He brushed his bangs carefully back with hair grease, but the rest of it just hung right above his shoulders. He loved to joke around and any prank was fair game. His parents let him run wild all over town, which he did with glee. He didn't share my love of fights, but he could hold his own just as well. We were pretty different; he was all about looks while I was all about actions. He'd rather look tough than act tough. It kept us sharp, always trying to compansate for the other in such a situation.

I walked over and slowly sat down on the old beat-up couch. I propped my feet up on the messy coffee table and waited for the eggs. There was something boring on the T.V. and even though I'd just woken up, I must have fallen asleep.

When I woke up again the T.V. was off and I must have switched positions because I was lying flat on the couch curled up with one of the stiff couch pillows. It was still light out, but the clock on the wall said it was three in the afternoon. The gang was sitting at the table playing cards. I sat up and tossed the pillow to the side. I got up using the arm as support and went over to them, leaning against the wall by the kitchen doorway.

"Hey," said Mickey distractedly. His eyes never even left his hand.

"Hey yourself. Who's winning?" I asked.

Jacky piped up from behind his cards, "Who do you think?" He glanced at Card.

Card is gifted with his luck with cards. That's how he got his nickname. One day we were all in the back, the gang, of the school during lunch and this kid is dealt in. Man, ever since then he's been one of the gang and has never lost a hand. If we ever took him to Las Vegas we'd never have to work again. Which reminded me…

"Shoot, I forgot about work. What am I gonna say?"

Mickey waved a hand. "Don't worry about it. The old man called ya in before he left."

I gave a thumbs up. Leaning over his shoulder, I peeked at his cards. He wasn't about to win with that hand. There was about fifty bucks in the pot, fifty bucks to Card. Playing him in a game was like paying him for a job. He was the only one of us without one, but he didn't need one for two reasons. Reason one, his parents were middle class and not bottom of the rung like us. Reason two, he plays cards like a robber plays the banks.

Card didn't make a lot of sense like us. He should be a normal average kid, well rounded and stuck in the middle class. Instead, he was with us and a troublesome no good hood. Us greasers were mostly brought into the life. We didn't have money and had to work for a living. The world, especially Socs, hated us and treated us poorly. With all that being pushed around we grow up fighting and hanging with hoods. So most of us were kinda forced into it, but Card put himself there. I guess he was just the kind of person that can't live without action.

Jacky's being a hood made sense. His folks had always been kind of poor, but when they were busted and hauled away for drugs, his brother had to step in or risk losing his little brother forever. Hart had been working his way through his second year of college, but he dropped out and got a full time job to become Jacky's guardian. Hart was a nice guy, but not the parent type. He was real tough on Jacky, like about his not being a great student or his drinking. When Hart wasn't out with Ryan he was working and when he wasn't with Ryan he was giving Jacky a long speech about how he didn't try hard enough. Hart's motto with his younger brother was 'You don't try and you don't care.'

Mickey's folks were poor too. Mostly he was the way he was though because they let him run wild. They cared about him, sure, but they let him live and learn rather than hear about life from their experiences. I liked it. I thought that was how it was supposed to be because otherwise you get bored and don't get any life experience before you turn eighteen and leave the homestead, if you can leave. Money was tight in a neighborhood like ours, as tight as the people. If Mickey couldn't run wild, I think he'd explode. He was just the kind of guy that needed to let off steam regularly.

Me, I guess I'm a hood for the same reasons. Money's rough to scrape up so legal fun is harder to come by. Dad's always gone so I get away with everything. Mom's gone so there's no one around to lecture me about doing dumb stuff. I like fights more than was good for me. Action was my leader and I its follower. That's kind of profound for me, but it's the truth. Give me a fight anyday and I'll go down swinging.

Just as I predicted, Card won and they quit.

Jacky said, "Shoot. I thought I was close on that one." Then he was getting angry. "Card, God dang it, do you know how long it took me to get that?" Only his words were more colorful.

Card was pocketing his money with his eyes downcast. He was probably feeling guilty, but he knew that Jacky wouldn't take the dough back if he offered. He said quietly, "Then why'd you go and bet it?"

Jacky sputtered. "Well, why do you have to win all the time? Ain't you ever heard of losing once in awhile?" His face was getting red and I blamed it on his liquid diet. He probably ain't had nothing to eat and soak up all that beer. That's not mentioning the fact he had to have a hangover from last night.

Mickey always was the knight. He stepped up and said, "Come on now, Jacky- Just calm down. You know that Card's real gifted. It ain't his fault."

He had an air to him that people just couldn't deny. If he told a cop to let him out of a speeding ticket, he'd probably almost get just that. Unfortunately, all the cops we'd ever run into had it out for us in general so we never got let off easy. Mickey could smile at anyone and get them to smile back, though. Even the cops. Of course, he was always smiling so people liked being around him anyway. He was just a plain old optimistic person about everything. It hard not to like him.

Jacky calmed down, if only a little. His face turned a less vibrant color and he looked less like he was gonna hit somebody. He rolled his shoulders like he did when he was cooling down for a minute or so. Eyes still hard he got out, "Yeah, well, sorry I guess, Card. I thought I had a good chance and now I ain't got no more money." That was code for 'I was stupid, now how am I gonna pay the bills?' Lucky for Jacky, he had Hart to look out for him another few months at least.

Card shrugged. Sometimes there was just no getting around that guy. Most of the time, if Mickey wasn't there, someone usually got beat before an apology was reached. Jacky and his brother had tempers. Card replied, "Yeah, well sorry I won again. You know I can't really help it."

It was quiet for a few minutes after that. No one knew how to ease the tension without being blaringly obvious. I started switching from foot to foot, getting uncomfortable. They cleaned up the game silently, the only sound the cards getting shuffled around and change getting stashed. With the table empty and the day still young, we didn't know what to do. I wasn't supposed to be doing anything, but I was so bored.

In the end we just watched some television. I wasn't looking forward to going to school tomorrow or work, but if another day passed like this I might loose my mind. If I though Mickey was bad about sitting still, I forgot to mention I'm twice as bad. I didn't even like laying around to sleep most nights. If I could sleep and walk at the same time, I would. School was torture when I bothered to go. All we did was sit and do nothing. I wasn't real smart, but I passed which was reason enough for me finish without dropping out. My life had no direction, but that was okay because I was happy where I was. I didn't need nothing but the here and now.

**Just a little character introduction. Do we like them? Jacky can be a real jerk, but he's good too. I know Mickey sounds a lot like Soda and Hart sounds like Darry. It wasn't intentional though, sorry! **


End file.
